


Legends and Loved Ones

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s07e18 Requiem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-03
Updated: 2006-12-03
Packaged: 2019-05-30 20:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15103898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Annabeth privately mourns the loss of her love-and receives comfort from an unexpected source.





	Legends and Loved Ones

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

I've been working on this off and on since John Spencer died-which will be six months ago next week. It is my last, and I hope a fitting tribute to what might have been, and fitting tribute to the actor who brought Leo McGarry to life.

Let me say that I admire those among you who can write AU fiction-I enjoy reading it. But I simply can not write it, and believe me I have tried. I've thought about writing back stories about how they came to be lovers, but I'm unable to write even that-I seem stuck by the facts of what comes later. So I'll say adieu. 

Disclaimer-All characters are the intellectual property of Aaron Sorkin and John Wells.   
Rating: "G"  
Synopsis:Annabeth struggles to keep her secret and finds a friend with a secret of his own and a request to make of her.

“Thank God for Xanax”, she thought to herself as she left the Residence. It had been a long time since she’d taken any. Leo had never said anything to her about them but she had noticed how he would try to distract her from her nerves-especially in the air. She had been touched by it-and had found herself responded by putting away the pills. But today was different.

The small private gathering of Leo’s friends had been a two edged sword. As hungry as she had been to be among other people who had loved him, hearing the stories they had to tell, the veneer of the past few days was beginning to wear thin.

She had not stayed long at the wake the previous day. She had paid her respects to the family, and stood at the closed and flag-draped coffin a moment to say a prayer. She had been grateful that the family had decided against a viewing-instead, framed pictures of Leo throughout his life covered the surface of the tables. A lanky boy standing with his two young sisters. Pictures from his college and law school graduations. A fighter pilot sitting in the cock-pit of his jet. Leo with his family, with friends, with dignitaries from all over the world.

Today, she had gathered with the rest of Leo’s family and friends at the church he had attended. Donna had invited her to sit with her and Josh, but she demurred, preferring to sit by herself a few rows behind the others. The service was beautiful, and heartbreaking. She did not have to hide her sorrow there-it had been alright to cry. She could cry and still hold on to her secret. 

She knew what to expect at Arlington. As a Navy brat, she had attended military funerals before. Even so, she flinched when the twenty-one gun salute had cracked the air. She heard the fighter jets approaching and looked up to see 5 of them flying in formation-and her heart broke again as one peeled off on it’s own-seeming to fly into the sun. As the graveside service ended, she had expected to hear “Taps”, but instead a lone piper standing on a hill near the burial site began to play “Amazing Grace”. That had been it for her. She driven herself home to wash her face and medicate herself before returning to the White House for the reception. 

She had moved about the large room in the Residence, which hummed with muffled voices. People had been gathering there since leaving Arlington. She tried to keep the memory of the last four days at bay.   
She had felt adrift-and not for the first time today. Wanting to find her place in the mourning. Unable to admit where that place was. It was with the group that stood apart from the others-the group that was not approached. The group she longed to join. They were the present and past members of the White House Senior Staff. 

She watched the close group silently, trying to keep her own grief in check by acknowledging theirs. But as she did, a voice in her head, filled with fondness, acknowledged them as well. Stories told during late night flights-told to distract her from her fears. She knew them all much better than they realized. She longed to tell them so-but could not. Some of her co-worker’s in the campaign had approached her with sympathy, with looks that invited disclosure of what they *might* have guessed at. But she smiled and thanked them for their sympathies at the loss of her friend-and kept her secret. She had promised. She would hold to it. She would not have her love reduced to just another campaign fling.  
When the President entered the room, calling for music and mirth, she could almost see Leo grinning-and reminding her that others were suffering as much as she was. She laughed along with the others-and began to heal. Later, when Debbie approached her to invite her to the Residence for a small private gathering, she almost demurred-but her need to being among the close-knit group of friends won out. She needed as much of him as she could get in order to begin to let him go.

In the small living room, she followed the President’s lead as the others did-celebrating the life, telling the stories, laughing. She told a story or two of her own-about stealing his watch, how he had “leaked” the story just before the Vice Presidential debate. Finally, when the First Lady ended the evening, she had followed the others back to the West Wing to collect her coat. “A hot bath.” she thought as she headed for the exit, “A hot bath and a long cry.” 

At the door, one of the Secret Service agents approached her. “The President is asking that you return to the Residence.” he said. 

“Oh?” Annabeth said. She blinked and tried to right herself. The Agent took her arm and she had no choice but to follow him. She had not spoken one on one with Bartlet in the previous few days. She had sent a note earlier in the week. A letter she had struggled over. Now, as she followed the Agent down the long corridor, she tried to formulate a statement of comfort she could offer, an acknowledgment-something that she could say-and say quickly. So far, she had been able to murmur innocuous words of comfort to all who loved him-and whom he had loved. 

But this...

The private gathering had been the first time she had been in the Residence. The long corridors, the high ceilings, the crown molding-she’d felt herself shrinking in awe of the place. The Agent stopped at the door of the room she had just left, leaving her there in the hallway. Annabeth smoothed her hair. The tactile was still dangerous-the feeling of her hand on her hair reminding her of another hand stroking it. The feeling of her hair against her hand-reminiscent of the feeling of his hair.

“Don’t go there.”, she whispered as the door opened again. The Agent held the door open and nodded to her. She entered, and he closed the door quietly behind her.

The large, long room with a wide half circle window at the end appeared empty. A fire was lit, the only other light came from two small lamps on either side of a couch. Her knees were wobbly, so she walked toward an armchair and sat down.

“Hello, Annabeth.”, a familiar voice said quietly. She rose at the sound of the voice and saw the President standing in the half shadows by the window. 

“Sir.” she said. He walked toward her, gesturing that she should sit again.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked as he stopped at the credenza behind the couch. 

She thought it over. She had stuck to Diet Pepsiall day, but the Xanax was wearing off. Leo wouldn’t mind. She nodded. “Whiskey, please.” She sat with her hands clasped in her lap as the President poured a neat shot into a crystal glass and brought it to her, leaning heavily on his cane. Her hand shook as she took it from him, and she cupped the glass in her lap for a moment. “Thank you, Sir.” The President walked back to the credenza and poured himself a drink.

“It’s been a long few days for you.” he said with his back to her. She took the opportunity to take a good sip from her glass. The warmth spread immediately into her veins. “Liquid moxie.” Leo had called it.

Don’t go there.

“For all of us.” she replied. She took another sip as he walked back and sat down heavily on the couch across from her. She took a deep breath before speaking again. “Sir, I know this has been a terrible blow for you. He thought the world of you.”

“And I of him.” the President said. “He was my brother.”

“He felt the same way.” They sat silently, each sipping from their glasses. Annabeth tried to think of something else to say. “He...Mr. President, he often spoke of you.”

“Did he?”

“Oh, yes...” she said, smiling for the first time. “Nothing...I don’t want you to think he said things that would be considered...”

“Issues of national security? No, of course not. That wouldn’t have been proper, would it? Leo was nothing if not proper.”

Proper. Such a perfect word to describe him. She remembered her lover’s proper behavior when they finally-finally faced the issue of the tension between them. How he spoke of his reservations. His concerns about impropriety. And finally his shy and touching disbelief that she loved him-that love had found him so late in life. She saw his face the first time he had reached for her with love and passion.

Don’t GO there. She drained her glass dry without thinking. She hoped the President wouldn’t notice. He did.

“Would you like another?” The President asked. “Help yourself. In fact, if you don’t mind...” He held his own glass out to her. 

“Of course, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” she said getting up. “And three bags full, Sir.” she heard Leo say as she walked to the credenza. She used the time to get back under control-to force her memories back where they belonged. A crystal pitcher of water stood on the credenza. Perhaps she should water this drink a bit, she thought. Her hand touched the handle of the pitcher and she stopped herself from picking it up. Can’t risk breaking it. Lord only knows what foreign dignitary gave it to the Nation. She poured 2 neat whiskeys and turned to walk back to the chair. Bartlet was looking at her-apparently had been looking at her all the while. When she walked back, he gestured that she should sit next to him on the couch. She would have preferred the distance of the armchair, but...one can not turn down a personal request by the President.

Bartlet continued to regard her as she sat down again. “What kinds of stories?” he asked.

“He used to talk about...oh, silly things. Late night poker games in the West Wing...”

“Complete with my trivia questions?”

Annabeth smiled. “Yes. He said you liked to “psych” your opponents in any game of chance.”

“I’m a sore loser.”

“He never said that, Sir.”

“No to *you*, of course.” The President sat back in his chair. “He did love to talk.” he said, taking a sip from his glass. “During this campaign we didn’t get to see much of each other, but we got to be like an old married couple-talking on the phone at the end of the day. It took a while for him to figure out that his role had changed, but he finally got there. He admired Santos-he was looking forward to being a part of the new administration. I’ll admit I felt a little jealous.”

“You shouldn’t, Sir. I think he would have always come to you for advice-before anyone.”

“I know. He always did....pretty recently in fact. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.” Jed leaned forward and put his glass on the table. He sat, not looking at her, his hands clasped together. She waited, trying hard to remain detached-it seemed her only route to getting through this. Finally, Jed began to speak. “You know...it may sound strange, but...I’ve been talking to him today-trying to ask his advice on something. Wondering what to do. Or rather-I know what to do-the question is how to do it”

“I don’t think it’s strange, Sir.”, she said, trying not to notice her voice cracking. “You knew him better than anyone.”

“He always knew what to do-that was a catch phrase around here-‘Leo will know what to do’.”

“Did it help you? Talking to him, I mean.”

“It did. I think I know what he would say. I think I know what he would want me to do.”

“I’m glad.”

The President got up, struggled up off the couch, waving her away when she started to rise to help him. He walked over to the fireplace and stood there with his back to her, staring into the fire. “I don’t make friends easily-never have. Leo...when you have a friend like that, who needs to look further?”

Annabeth sat on the couch, breathing in, breathing out. Understanding exactly how Bartlet felt-and unable to tell him so.

“We were friends for 40 years.” Jed continued. He picked up something small from the mantlepiece, and stood there passing it back and forth between his cupped hands. , “Oh, we had our moments-moments where we wanted to tear each other’s heads off. But this last year-oddly enough I never felt closer to him. We *were* like an old married couple-talking every night-summing up how our respective days went.”

“I know.” She said.

“You do?”

“Last thing at night-when I would bring in the next day’s itinerary-he was always on the phone making the last calls of the night. I could always tell when he was talking to you...”

“Really?”

Annabeth suddenly remembered she was talking to the President. “Oh, I never listened to what he was saying, Sir. I would never...”

“Of course.”

“There was just something about the tone of his voice...”

“Yes.” Jed said, looking down at the small object in his hand. “It got so we were finishing each other’s sentences.” Leaning heavily on his cane, he returned to the couch. “He had so much hope for the future. So many plans. He was not afraid.”

“No.” She got that out, at least.

“His plans....he’d asked my help with one of them.”

“I know you would have always been his best advisor...”

“Actually, this wasn’t advice he needed help with. There was something he needed to do-something he couldn’t do himself without raising flags. So, he asked me to do it.”

Annabeth looked at Bartlet’s face, but he was looking away. Looking at the object he still held in his hands. She glanced at it, but it was covered with his hands.

“He told me about you.” Bartlet said abruptly.

“Told you wa..” she started to say, then her voice failed her. She sat back, waiting.

“After the wedding reception, he came back to the Residence for a while-just the two of us. It had been a long time. At first, he just talked about the campaign, Santos and the future. Talk of the future...lead to talk of you.” Bartlet smiled for the first time in days. “You took him by surprise, you know.”

Annabeth nodded silently. The mention of the wedding-it was a night soon after that-when their plane was delayed due to heavy storms and they ended up in the Ambassador’s Club at O’Hare, that Leo had asked her a question that surprised her. She had answered it-and then asked him one. The torrent of words between them were sometimes stormy-but by the time the weather outside had cleared, so had all their doubt. She could not share this with Bartlet. She waited for him to continue.

“He...never considered that. I mean you-I mean...the possibility of you-of anyone loving him that way again.”

“I know.” she said, “That really surprised *me*.”

“So...he had a plan. I helped him with it.”

“Spin control for when we went public?”

“Oh, he pissed me off so much about that.” the President said. 

“Me to. But he was right, you know. He understood the press-the Party-better than anyone I ever knew. If we had gone public before the election...it would have become part of the Election news cycle.”

“Yes-but it was more than just that. He was a very private man.”

“Yes.”

“So...he had his plans ready. Ready for after the election-which he knew we would win, by the way. I hope you don’t mind my talking about this.”

“No, Sir.” she said with complete honesty. She felt better sitting next to him than she’d felt since Election Day. “He...*alluded* to his plans, but noting specific. I think he was enjoying keeping things from me.”

“Yeah, he would.” Bartlet said, smiling again. “He could be a real pain in the ass that way. He told me that the two of you were going to make it public at Christmas.”

“Yes, that much he told me.”

“He was bringing you to the Farm.”

Annabeth grew quiet again. Leo had talked to her about going public at Christmas, but the when/where and how he had kept from her “For Now”, he had said with a knowing smirk on his face. So this had been his plan. Her mind served her up a vision of what might have been-The two of them standing on the porch watching the snow. Sitting in front of a roaring fire late at night, talking in low voices...

Don’t go there.

“So, he asked me to help him with something. Something he couldn’t do himself without attracting attention. I did. That’s what a best man would do.” Bartlet finally sat back and turned to her. “Annabeth, I’ve been trying to think of a way...something to say...but after I talked to Leo tonight, I realized that there is no way to do this that won’t break your heart. But maybe it will help to mend it.” 

Annabeth looked in the President’s face questioningly, and then realized that he was holding the object out to her. It was a Tiffany ring box. She looked at it, unable to move for a moment. Finally, she took it from him. She held it without speaking.

“You don’t have to open it.” the President said, looking away again. “I mean, I can only imagine what you feel...”

“I think...if anyone knows, Sir...” She held the ringbox in her cupped hands a moment, and then opened it. He had talked to her about an engagement ring-not asking her opinion on what she would like, of course, just saying that he would “take care of it.” She remembered wagging her finger in his face and making one demand-no huge ostentatious rock. He had taken her at her word. The ring nestled in the box was lovely. Emeralds and sapphires-their birthstones-were set in a spiral pattern around a diamond.

“He designed it himself.” Bartlet said quietly. “Faxed me a drawing to send to Tiffany's.”

Annabeth’s hands began to shake. She slipped the ring out of the box and held it a moment, before slipping it on-not on the traditional left hand ring finger-but on the right. “Thank you, Sir.” she whispered.

“Thank you.” he said.

“Me? What...”

“For loving him. For bringing him back to life.” Bartlet stood up again, and went to the fireplace. Moving the screen, he fed a log or two onto the dying fire. Annabeth was reminded of something that Leo had shared. That although Bartlet was a man with a strong loving nature, strong emotions were hard for him to express directly. She knew he was trying to find an indirect way to continue. Finally, he stood up again and spoke. “Are you familiar with the origins of the tradition of the “best man’ at a wedding?

“No, I’m not, Sir, but I have a feeling I’m about to hear it, chapter and verse.” She was immediately shocked at the words that had come out of her mouth and her hand came up to her lips as she looked at him for a reaction.

Bartlet laughed. Not the forced laugh of earlier but whole-heartedly. “He said you had moxie.” He said shaking his head. “He said you sassed him constantly.”

“I’m sorry, Sir...”

“It’s alright.

“I would like to know. About the ‘best man’ thing.”

“Well, in ancient times, men sometimes captured women to make them their brides. A man would take along his strongest and most trusted friend to help him fight resistance from the woman's family. This friend, therefore, was considered the ‘best man’ among his friends. Granted, the necessity of such a role no longer exists.”

“He would have had no problem with me, that’s for damned sure.”

“Later, in Anglo-Saxon England, the best man accompanied the groom up the aisle to help defend the bride against anyone who might wish to keep the wedding from taking place.”

“*Everyone* who might have tried that would have had a problem with me on that score.”

“I can imagine.” Bartlet said as he sat back on the couch again. “I suppose my point is that the role of the “best man’ is one of friend and protector. I’d like to have you think of me that way-as a friend you can turn to in need.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She looked down at the ring on her hand.

“Annabeth,” Bartlet said, “I know that your relationship with Leo was kept quiet for a reason. But, that reason...no longer exists. If it would be a comfort to you, having Leo’s close friends know that he loved you...it could be done quietly.”

She thought about it for a moment, then she shook her head. “It would be a comfort, but...sooner or later it would get out and then...it would become a process story. I don’t know exactly how to say this but if the press got ahold of it...I’d rather he be remembered for the life he lead than for something private about him.”

“You’re right. He’d feel the same.” Bartlet sat back again. “Not even Mallory? You might be of comfort to each other.”

“No.” Annabeth said, “He hadn’t told her. I mean, we’d met a number of times but...he was going to tell her right after the election. To tell her now...I wouldn’t want her to feel badly that he kept it from her as long as he did.” She looked down at the ring again. “This is all the acknowledgment I need.” she said. She looked at Bartlet’s face and took his hand in both of hers. “And you. I’m glad you know.” She thought of something suddenly. “Does...the First Lady know?”

“Lord, no. I was sworn to secrecy there. My wife is such a yenta-if she had known your email box would have been flooded with china patterns and suggestions for the invitations.”

“If you wanted to tell her now...that would be alright with me.”

“Thank you. I think she would be happy to know that he found you.” Jed picked up his drink and took a long sip. “So...has anything been said to you about the new Administration? Your role in it, I mean.”

“I’ve been offered the job of Press Secretary for the First Lady. I’m presently on the fence about accepting it.”

“Plenty of time to make up your mind.” He set the glass down again. “I’m on the fence to- a offer’s been made to me. Simon and Schuster wants me to write a book.”

“I’ll be the first to buy you autobiography-you’ve had a fascinating life.”

“I have, but that’s not the book I want to write. I want to write a biography. Leo’s biography.”

Annabeth smiled. “I’m so glad. I mean, someone was bound to-I mean glad you’re writing it.”

“I’m not going to start until late spring. I promised Abbey a quiet winter at the Farm, and then a long second honeymoon. I’ll hire some research hounds to gather information in the meantime. There’s a lot to gather. Talk about a fascinating life.” He shifted on the couch. She could tell that there was more he wished to say. She waited quietly until he found his words. “I know most of it-40 years worth. But this last year-the campaign-I’d need someone who was...there.”

Annabeth was silent, taking in what he was saying. Thinking of what it would mean-how it would feel before she responded. “I’d be happy to sit with you...tell you everything you’d need to know, Sir.”

“Thank you.” Jed replied, “But, I was thinking along the lines of...a co-author.” He shifted his body to look at her directly. “In the past few years, I have learned that I have to factor my illness into everything I do. How much I am able to do-what I need help with. I don’t always know from day to day how much energy I’ll have. But not only that...Annabeth, I want to do him justice. I’ve been told that I put people on a pedestal-I think it’s true of Leo more than anyone. I need someone who knew him well, who will keep me from doing that. I’d like that person to be you.”

She sat there taking it in, overwhelmed and unable to respond.  
“Keep in mind that this is not an order or request from the President.”, he continued, “This is absolutely one of those times you can say no.” 

“If it’s alright, Sir, I’ll just not say anything for now. Other than to thank you for the honor.”

“Of course-take all the time you need. I know I’ve laid a whole lot on you in the past 20 minutes...” He got up from the couch. “You look tired and I’m keeping you from your bed. Did you drive today?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’m going to have someone drive you home-you can pick up your car tomorrow.” He took her arm and led her to the door. Pausing before he opened it, he turned and put his arms around her and held her tightly. “He’s still with us.” he whispered.

“I know, Sir. Thank you for everything.”

He looked at her and smiled. “You know...you’re welcome to come down to the Farm for Christmas.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Sir, but...Christmas this year...I’m going to need some distance.”

“I understand.” he said. He squeezed her arm as he opened the door to let her go.

She walked down the corridor, into the West Wing and toward the exit where a car was already waiting for her. She went home, had a long bath as promised but she did not cry. She looked at the ring-a symbol of something lost-but now becoming a symbol f something found.

She accepted the position on Helen Santos’s staff, and spent the next two months co-ordinatng with Donna, keeping busy. Although she had many invitations, she holded up in her apartment for Thanksgiving. At Christmas, she received more invitations, but opted to fly to an excluded sunny spot  
where she sat on the beach drinking pina colodas. She read all the books she’d been meaning to read but had no time for. She ate chocolate. She cried-and began to heal.

When she returned to Washington, she sat down with Donna and told her the decision she had made. Then she called Josiah Bartlet and accepted the offer. “When will you be ready to start?”, she asked.

“We’ll be back home the first of April.” He said, “Abbey says you can have the pick of the guest rooms, or there’s an apartment above the garage you can have if you’d rather.”

“That would be fine.”, she said. “Sir, one thing.”

“Yes?”

“You said you needed someone to keep you from putting him on a pedestal. I think...we will need to do that for each other. There’s a quote of Jackie Kennedy’s I ran into-I’m going to send it to you. I think it would help us both.”

“Bring it on.” he said. And she did. She arrived at the Farm on the 5th of April and was welcomed with open arms by Jed and Abbey Bartlet. Jed had fitted out the sunroom as their base of operations, and the first thing Annabeth did was write the Jackie Kennedy quotation on a piece of posterboard and hang it high on the wall. Anytime either one of them indulged in maudlin prose, the other would fling something at the posterboard, as a reminder of the promise made.

Annabeth was Bartlet’s legs in the project, flying off to interview people who had known Leo at different points in his life. Mallory, her two aunts and other family members came to the Farm during one long weekend. The work was completed and sent to the publisher in late August. It was published quickly and was an immediate success. After spending a few months promoting the book, Annabeth moved on.

She did freelance work for Emily’s List, for Congressional campaigns. Eventually, her friends stopped trying to introduce her to eligible men, finally giving her up as a lost cause. These same friends were surprised when she did find love again-Annabeth was surprised more than anyone. He was nothing like Leo-except...there was something about him, something behind his eyes that spoke to her. When she received the engraved invitation, she decided to put her instincts about him to the test. 

“Save the last weekend in May.” she said offhandedly one night.

“What’s the last weekend in May?” he asked looking over his glasses at her.

She leaned in and kissed his brow. “I want you to come with me to New Hampshire and meet a friend of mine.”

She brought him to New Hampshire for the opening Bartlet Library. Nothing was said-during the course of their time together writing Leo's biography, Annabeth and Jed had developed a language of their own. All she needed to do was look in Bartlet's twinkling eyes to know her instincts were true-and her choice found worthy. 

 

“Now I think I should have known that he was magic all along. I did know it-but I should have guessed that it was too much to ask to grow old with him and see our children grow up together...So now he is a legend when he would have preferred to be a man.”

Jacqueline Kennedy, 1964


End file.
